You rock, rock

- Motherfucking cocksucker. Motherfucking shit fucker! What am I doing? What am I doing?
I don't know what I'm doing. I'm doing the best that I can. I know that's all I can ask of myself.
But is that good enough? Is my work doing any good? Is anybody paying attention? Is it hopeless to try and change things? The African guy's a sign, right? Because if he isn't... then nothing in this world makes any sense to me ... I'm fucked. Maybe I should quit. Don't quit. Maybe I should just fucking quit. Don't fucking quit. I don't know what the fuck I'm supposed to fucking do anymore. Fucker. Fuck! Shit!

- I'm glad we saved a piece of this marsh. I know it's small, but at least it's something. Don't stop fighting. We're going to save a lot more of this place. To celebrate, I have a poem I'd like to read:

Nobody sits like this rock sits
You rock, rock
The rock just sits and is
You show us how to just sit here,
And that's what we need

(Yeah, we did it)

- Any press come?

- Yeah, local paper's here. What's wrong?

- Nothing. It's just I have an appointment to check out this African guy.
- What African guy?

- Exactly. What African guy?

Para mi hermana, p.l.m.v.